he messaged first. she made him wait three months. then he wrote the same question 365 times.
the three-month reply
juliana and aaron met on happn — aaron did the brave part, and juliana did the honest one: she took three whole months to answer. when she finally did, they met for a coffee in clontarf, and that date — the 31st of july, 2022 — quietly became the one they count everything from.
the proposal she almost read straight past
somewhere along the way they started a small ritual: a box, and little folded notes — the things they're grateful for — opened together, one day a month. one of those days, juliana was working through the pile when she hit a note that said “marry me?” because these two propose to each other constantly, as a running joke, she said “yes” on autopilot and kept reading.
the next note said it too. and the next. it took her a few before the penny dropped — and then aaron produced a whole box of them, the same question written out for every single day of the year. just in case she'd miss it.
an anniversary in the glasshouse
four years in, ask them for three words and you get respectful, loving, honest — the cook-together, eat-together, easy kind of love. so we marked the anniversary where a day like this belongs: outside, in good light, in the botanic gardens. the glasshouse, the palms, the two of them in all that green.
the civil is already done; the big party comes next year. this was the quiet in-between — a prewedding, a save-the-date, and four years of proof that she was right to answer.
if you're dreaming up a dublin prewedding — golden light, a glasshouse, somewhere impossibly green — this is exactly the kind of morning i love to hold a camera for.